Leverage: All the Way Down
by Gilbert H. Karr
Summary: Eliot responds to a request for help from an old friend, and accidentally stumbles onto a plot, by a familiar enemy, to destroy the team. Now, he must use all the skills he possesses to keep them all safe. Rated T for mild language, scenes of torture and violence. Please read and review. I don't write slash. Enjoy! Team fic, slightly Eliot centric. ***Chapter 8 re-posted***
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own Leverage or any of the characters contained therein. I write for fun and not for profit, and make no money off of any of this. Constructive comments are welcome, as I take writing seriously, and they help me improve. I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it for you. Please read and review. I don't write slash. Thank you!**

The night was dark and cold, and the distant lights that glinted around the perimeter of the camp did nothing to dispel the inky blackness. Fat, freezing raindrops fell steadily, making _a tink, tink, tink_ sound as they hit first the trees and then the ground. A mass huddled, shivering, in the center of the ring of darkness where the pinpoints of light did not reach, and the only sounds were the steady cacophony of raindrops, the breathy squeak of chattering teeth, and the squishy, squelchy sound of mud-covered cloth as it tried to break free of the half-frozen mud that held it down. The last sounds were really the only definitive proof that the mass might be alive, and they were growing weaker with each moment that passed.

He didn't know how long he had been lying on this muddy patch of ground, only that the pain that had wracked his body, from the many hours of torture to which they had subjected him and from the multiple gunshots he had endured, was gone and a strange nothingness replaced it. He didn't seem to be fatally wounded, though he had been shot at least seven times, with two different caliber weapons, and he was sure he had lost a good bit of blood. It didn't matter, nor was he particularly bothered by the realization that he no longer felt the cold. He had no doubt that the rest of his senses would soon follow suit, dimming one by one, until the spark that marked him as a living person, unique unto himself, winked out. With luck, he would fall asleep and never wake up again. For people like him, that wasn't the worst way he could die. The only thing that mattered now was that he hadn't talked, he had refused them the information they were after, and therefore, had managed to keep one of his oldest friend, and his team, safe awhile longer. His death would have meaning. As the world slid sideways into nothingness, he struggled to hold on to that thought, but he was tired—so tired, and in the end, the exhaustion overwhelmed him. The last thing he felt, as the darkness reached out for him, was something solid on his chest. _So this is what dying feels like, _he thought, as he felt himself sliding into the abyss.

Later, it could have been minutes or hours, he had no way to tell, he became aware of liquid fire stabbing at every inch of his body, and for a moment, the part of him that had been raised a believer wondered if he had awakened in Hell. Though he understood none of it, the cadence that surrounded him spoke of an urgent, disciplined activity, undertaken with restlessness and military precision. Sensing that he was in a place of safety, though he couldn't marshal enough coherent thought to actually say why, he felt his body giving back in, and he once again slept the deep sleep of exhaustion.

Still later, he awoke again, to a different kind of fire. This time, it was dry, and more pleasantly warm than hot, but his nerve endings still screamed in remembered pain, and every muscle in his body ached. He felt something on his face that reminded him of the hot towels available before a straight-razor shave at an old fashioned barber shop, and struggled to open his eyes. They seemed to be glued shut.

"Just a minute," said a strong, feminine voice. He felt the hot towel swipe at his eyes, wiping the sleep away gently. Finally, the voice spoke again. "Now try to open them."

When he did what he was told, the scene was blurred, and he couldn't make out anything. He quickly closed them again, and the hand on his shoulder and the voice in his ear told him to relax and wait a moment longer before trying again. Again he felt the hot towel wiping at his eyes. When he finally opened them again, a woman with flaming red hair and eyes the color of emeralds looked back at him from a face he hadn't seen in over ten years. He felt the disorientation, like the world had turned upside down.

"Redheads burn the hottest," he said.

He heard refined laughter, which sounded like the tinkling of a dozen small bells, and she said, "Eliot Spencer, I'm going to pretend you didn't say that because you're injured, and may be sick, and also likely still a bit groggy from your ordeal."

Embarrassment crept up his face as he realized just where it was he knew this woman to whom he was speaking from.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and tried to sit up.

She put out a hand to stop him. "Don't. We're still getting you cleaned up, and you don't need to start bleeding again." Producing a hypo from somewhere, she injected him with a local anesthesia, and after giving it a few minutes to take effect, she started stitching up the gunshot wounds. He lay there, stoically silent, until she had to dig one bullet out from where it was lodged against the bone. In his condition, she couldn't give him anything stronger than the local he had already taken, and so she wouldn't have blamed him in the least had he felt the need to scream, but all he did was grunt as the bullet was removed. When she was finished, he held out his hand to her, and she helped him sit up, and propped some pillows behind him. When she finished, she went about the business of bandaging his wounds.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, pressing a bottle into his hand and helping him drink.

"No," he said.

She indicated the water bottle in his hand. "All right, then. This, plus the IV, will help to counter the blood loss, so I will expect you to drink it all."

"I was supposed to be rescuing you," he said, disbelief coloring his features as the thought occurred to him.

"Rescuing me? From what?"

Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, grimacing at the pain that movement caused, and said, "My team! Did you call them?"

"If you are meaning Nathan Ford and the rest of that team, then yes. They are camped out downstairs. Mr. Ford and Mr. Hardison helped me get you up here, but Nate told me that you might not want the rest of the team to see what cleaning you up looked like, so they agreed to wait until I got you cleaned up, bandaged, and dressed to come and see you." With those words, she handed him a button up shirt and a clean pair of jeans. "While you get dressed, I will go and deliver the news to your team that you'll live, and allow them a short visit. Then I want you to sleep and gain some strength. Tomorrow is soon enough to talk about the mission."

She helped him work his arms into the sleeves of the shirt, and then left him to himself while she went downstairs to report to the team.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to all who have read this story so far, and a special thank you to those who have taken the time to review. Reviews make my day, so please keep them coming. I hope you enjoy this latest installment. **

**Chapter 2**

Eliot didn't have the energy to handle the whole team together, so they visited him one by one. Nate was the last, and it was during his visit that exhaustion once again overtook the hitter, and he faded off to sleep. After a moment, Nate turned to the woman in the room and spoke quietly.

"How is he, Dr. Carrington?"

"Kitty, please. Or Doc. Whichever you prefer. He's still a bit hypothermic, but he's starting to warm up. I think he'll be okay. What was he doing out there, anyway?"

"I was hoping you could answer that question, since we were supposed to be rescuing you."

"Eliot mentioned something about that. I never called for a rescue."

Nate rose and moved over to the other side of the bed, picking up Eliot's muddy jeans where they had been discarded when she cut them off of him. Fishing around in the pockets for a moment, he pulled out a large, round, bronze colored coin and handed it to her. "Is this yours?" he asked.

She looked at it for a moment before nodding. "Yes, that's my special forces medallion. I gave it to a young man, along with a coded message, for delivery to Eliot. I was trying to arrange a meeting with him."

"Why?"

"On a matter private to the two of us. It seems there are bigger problems now, though. Those men who captured him—they were CIA, and they were trying to flush your whole team out. I don't know why, nor do I know any more about all of this than what I've told you."

"How did you know how to contact Eliot? That letter came here to the office."

"We served together for fifteen years. I make it a priority to follow the careers of the men with whom I served. We take care of one another."

"So do we."

"I don't expect you to trust me, but Eliot trusted me once upon a time."

"I still do," said a quiet voice from the direction of the bed.

"So what's our next move?"

"I think it's safe to say I'm burned. The false information from the messenger, and setting you up to rescue me is a sure sign of that, wouldn't you say?"

"Agreed. We will want to talk to you, when you are able to leave Eliot, so we go in with as much information as we can get."

"Of course."

(0o0)

Doc's survival depended upon noticing details about people. So, she was getting a bit frustrated as she tried to remember the details of the two people she had seen. The more she tried to remember, the more the details seemed to slip through her grasp, and the more frustrated she became. She sat with Parker, who had a small sketchpad open on her lap, in the living room area of Nate's apartment. Nate and Sophie sat at the dining room table, watching quietly.

"So you said that one of the men had short, close cropped hair and square features? Do you remember anything else about him?"

"I think he was middle aged. I didn't really get that good a look at him."

Standing up, still looking at her, Nate spoke, "I'll bet you remember more than you think."

"Mr. Ford, with due respect, I am trained to notice details about people. I have bet my life on remembering details of faces, features, sometimes names. You can trust me when I tell you, I can't remember."

"But you're also a doctor, a scientist. So you would be open to an experiment, right?"

She stared at Nate for a moment, and he knew she was weighing what she knew of him against her own instincts, sizing him up. Finally, she asked, "What sort of experiment?"

He hesitated, and her eyes narrowed. He knew, if he wanted to get anywhere with her, he had to tell her the truth. He just didn't know how she would react. Taking a deep breath, he said, "hypnosis."

"Interesting. I've heard of people who could access the subconscious to get details the conscious memory might have overlooked, but I've never seen it done. Tell me, Nathan Ford, who among you has the training to do such as this."

"Close your eyes." She did so, and he began speaking again, in a quiet and soothing voice.

(0o0)

It seemed as though she had just closed her eyes when she opened them again, to Parker holding the sketchpad up with completed drawings of two men, and smiling widely. Kitty wasn't sure how to feel. On the one hand, she was happy that they had been able to get what they needed from her mind, but on the other, she felt a bit awkward that she had no memory of how that had happened. She couldn't deny that it was an interesting experience, though.

Wearing a neutral mask, she said, "Glad I could help. Do you recognize anyone?"

Nate looked at the drawings in shock, but didn't say anything.

"Well. I'd better go check on Eliot." And with that, she turned and disappeared up the stairs. Her hitter friend was still sleeping when she got there. As she pulled the cover back to check on him, a pair of startling blue eyes met hers.

"Hi Sweetheart," he said, giving her the smile that would make most women do just about anything for him.

She smiled back. "How are you feeling?"

"Ain't gonna lie," he grunted. "I'm hurting." She was, perhaps, the only person to whom he would freely admit that. It had always been that way, maybe because she knew him well enough to know when he was telling the truth, and maybe because she was a doctor so he couldn't quite hide it from her.

Just then, Nate came into the room, carrying the drawing. She had her back to him, conversing with her patient.

"Well, you're not in shock anymore. I'll get you some morphine." Nate moved up to the other side of Eliot's bed, just as he spoke up.

"I don't wan—" he started, but she cut him off, with a quick shake of her head.

"You're hurting and you are under my care."

As she dug in her bag for the supplies she needed, Eliot saw the picture in Nate's hand. "Wait, that looks like the CIA dude from that college job, Conrad."

"Agreed. I wanted to see if you thought so, too," Nate said.

Kitty looked up at that point, having found the supplies she needed, and Eliot must have seen something in her face, because a hand shot out and grasped her arm in a grip like iron. He turned her to face him. He gazed at her for a long moment, trying to read her, but Doc Carrington wasn't what she was for nothing, and he couldn't tell what, if anything, was wrong. Finally, he reached up and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, and said, "Nate asked something of you, didn't he?" He spoke to her, but his eyes were burning into Nate. Nate didn't move, he simply stood, watching the exchange.

She didn't answer, she just turned away and started doing something, and he growled. "Damn it, Nate. When I can stand up, we're gonna have a little talk about how I expect this team to treat my friends."

Turning back, with a smile, she laid a hand on his arm and said, "He asked no more than was necessary, and took nothing that wasn't freely offered. I don't have a problem with what was done, I just don't like the way we had to do it. I'll get over it. Now, get some sleep, my friend." With those words, she injected him with the contents of the hypo in her hand, and then sat next to his bed until he faded off to sleep.

"Thank you," Nate said, softly, and then added, "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize. It helped, and it was necessary. Besides, despite my discomfort, I found it to be an interesting experiment, though not necessarily one I care to repeat anytime soon. Eliot is protective at the best of times, but he is especially so when he is injured and under the influence of drugs. He knows I can handle myself. He'll come around."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_**1 week ago…**_

Eliot Spencer held his Air Marshall's badge in his hand, running a thumb over its rough gold, engraved surface. It had served him well on at least one occasion with his crew, and on more than one individually. Eliot was a man with a reputation for getting things done, in whatever manner he had to do so. His job was to protect them, and not allowing any of them to know too much about his past was one of the ways he did so. Nobody ever seemed to want to know exactly how he did his job, and truth be told, he couldn't blame them. He didn't want to tell them, either. His hands were dirty, and it was better for them if they didn't know exactly how dirty. He was pulled from his thoughts by the descent of the plane, and he tucked the badge back into his pocket.

When the plane landed, he moved through the airport quickly and quietly, just as he had done a thousand times before, in a hundred different airports, making an effort to blend into the crowd, while careful not to draw their attention at the same time. A man with as many enemies as he had never knew when he might accidentally run into one of them. His deep blue eyes lit up as he gained the relative freedom of the concrete sidewalk, but they always did that when he was outdoors, or when he met a pretty girl. He walked the fifteen blocks to headquarters, where he promptly showered and changed. They all had rooms at the new headquarters. When he came downstairs, the rest of the team was assembled from their three months apart.

Nathan Ford, a man who had become his friend and then almost a brother to him in the five years they had worked together, nodded at him.

"Nate," he acknowledged. "How was Egypt?" Nate had taken his girlfriend, who commonly went by the name of Sophie, to visit the pyramids, and while there, they discovered that someone was trying to steal the ancestral jewels of one of Sophie's aliases, and managed to stop the thieves. While Eliot didn't know the whole story, he had managed to put most of it together from the information his sources brought to him. Even when he was away, he made it a priority to keep an eye on the other members of the team.

"It was…nice. Very…nice. How did you pass the time while we were all apart?"

Eliot gave a short bark that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl. "I visited some friends, did some odd jobs." He knew that Nate knew what that meant. When the team was apart, Eliot usually split his time between helping his buddies still working with the US government or on rare occasions, working with some former acquaintances—either taking care of problems he had created or protecting those who had proven useful to himself or his team.

Nate nodded, and then turned to the large screen in front of them, sliding into the chair next to him as he did so. Eliot followed suit.

"Do we have a new client?" asked Alec Hardison.

"Ask Eliot, he called this meeting," Nate said, quietly.

Hardison looked at Eliot, and when the hitter didn't say anything, Hardison prompted him. "Eliot?"

Eliot didn't answer, exactly, he just reached over and took the remote from where it sat in front of Hardison, and clicking one of the buttons, pulled a picture up on the screen in front of them. A very pretty young woman with flaming red hair and eyes the colors of emerald and jade smiled back at them. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he took out a folded white envelope. Eliot turned the envelope up and shook it. A folded piece of paper fell out, along with some sort of large, gold coin. Eliot palmed the coin and unfolded the paper. It was a hand drawn map. There were numbers written in the top left corner. Without speaking he passed the map to Nate. Turning his attention back to the face on the screen, he smiled and spoke for the first time.

"She's someone I once knew. An old friend. Messenger delivered this to me this morning. If she's contacting us through a messenger, that means she's in trouble, and it is either too dangerous or physically impossible for her to get word to me in person."

"Who is this woman, and why does she call on you when she gets into trouble?"

"Catherine Carrington. Goes by Kitty. She's the only woman who ever completed special forces training with any branch of the US military, and she's every bit as dangerous as I am, and probably more so. She called on me because I owe her a favor. Several in fact."

"That doesn't make sense. I thought women weren't allowed to serve in the special forces."

"They aren't, but she wasn't taking no for an answer. Her rank allowed her to access the training program, and she began training by herself, pushing harder and harder, day in and day out, until the day came when she could complete the program parameters almost a minute and a half faster than the best times listed in the regulations. Her intelligence tests were off the chart. It was then that she petitioned to join our unit. That left the powers that be with a quandary. They had a policy that women couldn't serve in the special forces, but she was clearly more than qualified, and she was fairly well connected, with a grandfather who was an ex-SEAL and a rear admiral, and a father who was a commander. There would be no explaining this one away.

"So, they threw every test they could conceive at her, and she passed them all but one. Even though males can fail up to two tests, and retake them twice, that gave them the excuse they needed. It was finally decided that she could join the unit, but could not serve in a combat role. So, she chose to become a field medic, attached to our unit. She saved each of us more than once, and earned the nickname Doc. We served together for fifteen years. I haven't seen her for almost ten years. While we were on R&R, she was taking tests and doing work to become a full fledged M.D. I'm telling you, Nate, she's every bit as capable of caring for herself as I am, so if she needs my help, she must be in some pretty bad trouble. She sent me a map of her location.

"So how do we do it?"

"We don't. I can't put any of you in that kind of danger. I'll do it myself. I mainly wanted your help to prep this."

"No."

"Nate—"

"We're a team, Eliot. If she asked for a rescue, and she's as good as you say she is, it is bound to be a bad situation." Nate gave Eliot a sidelong glance. "It will be easier if we all do it together. There's a reason we make a great team."

"You do realize that she's connected with my past, which means we might come up against others connected with my past as well. That's a fact you shouldn't take lightly when making your decision."

Nate looked around at the rest of the team, wanting to help, but knowing that if he was risking their lives, he needed to be sure everyone was on board. Each gave a slight nod, which he returned, then said, with a lopsided smile, "We'll deal with that when, and if, the time comes."

"So how do we do it?" Parker asked.

"I'm the retrieval specialist, and the only one of the group she knows. Best if I get her. Once she is free, we'll both serve as backup for the team, unless she is injured. The rest of you do what you do, but stay as invisible as possible. I want to be halfway home before they realize we are gone."

"What are these numbers?" Sophie asked.

"Those? Those are latitudinal and longitudinal designations. The North Koreans have her. Still want to come?"

"Well, everybody, pack your bags. We leave in an hour. Hardison, tickets."

"I'm on it," the young hacker murmured, typing furiously.

"Well, then, let's go steal the past," Nate said, as he started upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: Thank you to all of the people supporting this story. Here's chapter 4. I've wanted to write it and get it posted since Experimental Friendships was finished, but I just couldn't torture Eliot over Christmas-fictional story or not._**

**_I don't own Leverage or any of the characters on the show. I write for fun and not for profit. Please read and review. I don't write slash. Thank you._**

**Chapter 4**

**6 days ago…**

Eliot had once told Sophie that the thing he had to control was inside him, and as he sat quietly watching the guards below, waiting for his opportunity to slip in among them, he was glad she hadn't ever pressed for the full truth of that statement. He knew that the worst monsters of all, those beyond our ability to imagine or contain, are the ones that live inside of us. Eliot had felt the monster in his own soul that day in the warehouse, when he was fighting for the safety of Nate and the Italian, and in a way, for his own safety, too. That monster had compelled him to do unspeakable things in the past, things for which there could be no salvation. He had been telling Sophie the truth that day in the ring, as he prepared to fight Tank. He had had to learn to control the monster, or else he risked being consumed by it. And he knew that he would much rather be its master than its servant.

He felt the stirrings of the great beast inside him once again, as he prepared to rescue one of his oldest and dearest friends, the friendship made the more dear by the things they had shared. The intel they had gathered told them that she was being held in a low, metal building which looked to be military in nature. Actually, it looked to be a relic left over from American military presence there. They had watched the building for three days, and had a good idea of the comings and goings of the guards. There were two standing guards all the time, who rotated in six hour shifts, and they were joined by one or two others at regular intervals during the day. Eliot decided it would be best to take them out when it was only the two. Of course, that meant getting her and getting out, before the other guards came to join the first two.

So, he settled in to his vantage point on a giant loft, of sorts, and sat watching the scene unfold. There was definitely someone being held, but no way to tell who it was from this distance. He climbed down and snuck quietly from tree to tree in the jungle, until he was right at the edge of the clearing in which the building sat.

He waited until one of the guards was on the other side of the building, and sneaking up behind the other, he choked him out. When he was unconscious, Eliot dragged him by his feet into the cover of the tree-line, tied him up, and hid him well. Then, he snuck slowly down into the meadow. He didn't like sneaking into an open area like this, though he had done it before. It wasn't a very defensible position. He wouldn't leave her there, though.

Moments later, he left the cover of the tree line, and ducking his head, he sprinted for the center of the clearing to the building where his friend was being held. A moment later, he wrenched open the door of the building as quietly as possible, and threw himself inside, his hyper alert senses making his body tingle with anticipation. Only then did he realize that it was as dark as pitch. He stood still for a moment, and closed his eyes, trying to make the adjustment to seeing in the dark easier, but soon realizing it was hopeless with a darkness so profound that there were no shadows.

A moment later, his worst fears were confirmed, as three things happened at the same time. The heavy iron door he had wrenched open moments before slammed closed with a heart stopping clanking sound, the room was flooded in bright light, which blinded him temporarily, and he felt sturdy iron rings attached to chains close around his wrists and ankles. As his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he discovered that the room was empty. He knew someone had been tied up there earlier, and he had heard labored breathing when he first entered the room, which meant they had to have moved her. Eliot didn't have much time to think about where they might have taken her, because an untold number of people surrounded him, obscuring his vision of the rest of the room, and he was frog marched out of the room.

He made a mental map of where they were taking him, counting his footsteps, and noting those obstacles he could see. He was blindfolded and gagged, but he felt the temperature dropping and determined that they had either moved outdoors or into a subterranean level of the building. After a number of twists and turns, they stopped. Eliot felt himself being stripped of his clothes, and then lifted onto a table. He tried to fight back, and found himself completely immobilized, arms and legs fastened to iron bars near the head and foot of the table. He forced himself to stay calm and assess the situation objectively, as his military training had taught him to do, but he couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped when he felt the shocking cold metal of the stethoscope, and realized he was being examined. Cruel laughter told him that the gasp had not gone unnoticed, and then he gagged as a tube was forced none too gently up his nose and down his throat, into his stomach. He stiffened as he felt the urinary catheter being inserted, and tried to breathe through the pain. He forced himself to stay relaxed, as he knew the damage that could be done if he didn't. He grew lightheaded and lost track of his surroundings as needles pierced the skin of his arms and legs.

Eliot came back to himself to find that he was secured to a cold, metal bench. He suppressed a shiver, determined not to let them know that anything they were doing was having an effect on him, though he wasn't sure he could keep that particular secret for long. He was radiating heat and his head felt strange. He couldn't quite focus. Suddenly, he felt a blast of freezing water hit him as someone sprayed him down.

(0o0)

Over the comms, Hardison heard the metal door slam and his heart sank. Something had gone horribly wrong.

"Um, y'all, I think we have a problem."

"We're aware, Hardison. Stand by," Sophie said.

A moment later, Nate's voice sounded over the comms, telling them all to meet him outside. They needed to re-group. There would need to be some changes to the plan.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Leverage and it's characters do not belong to me. I write for fun, and make no profit. I don't write slash.**

**Thanks to those who are reading, and especially for those taking the time to review. It really makes my day to know what readers think of my stories. **

**Chapter 5**

**3 days ago…**

Over the time of his detainment, Eliot's torture took on a sort of routine. Mostly he was kept in a state of sensory deprivation, unless he was removed from that environment for another, more creative form of torture. During those times, he was subjected to electrical shocks, to being burned, beaten, and cut. He was also sometimes water-boarded or dunked into a bucket of water. The sensory deprivation made the rest worse, but at the same time, it was sometimes a relief not to have to feel the after effects of what had been done to him.

During the sensory deprivation, his normal state, his arms were suspended above his head, and there were restraints under his arms, holding him upright. They had gone numb, so now, he felt nothing above him, around him, or below him, except for the pressure from his own body weight pushing against abused joints, the chills from the fever that swept his body from the icy water that he was periodically doused with, and the pain from the catheter. They force fed him through the feeding tube, but either as a result of something they gave him or the illness consuming his body, he constantly felt nauseous, and even vomited a little, though he found himself having to choke it back down because of the gag.

The blindfold kept him from seeing anything, so the only sense he could really rely on was his hearing, and that was sometimes unreliable because of the sheer size of the building he was kept in, and how sounds bounced off of various objects in the room. If he had been allowed to stay conscious longer, he might have been able to get a decently accurate layout of the room by noting how the sound changed when it bounced off of metal or wood or plastic, and how far away it was. A combination of guards and sensors kept him stimulated enough to be on the edge of consciousness most of the time, and aware of what was being done to him. He guessed it made sense. Why bother to engage in sensory deprivation if the subject wasn't conscious to be bothered by it?

The worst thing about sensory deprivation, in Eliot's opinion, was that a person subjected to this treatment could never get a mental picture of what torture might be carried out when, and so, it was always a surprise—not so much what was happening, but when it would happen—and neither could they plan their own escape. So, he became grateful for the brief stints of full awareness, although they were painful, because they re-assured him that none of the rest of the team was being held here with him (though that did little to reassure him that they hadn't been captured or killed) and allowed him to turn his mind, however briefly, to his own escape. It was during one of these times, as he assessed his own condition, that he decided he might be in a lot of trouble.

His mouth was dry, as though he had not had water in a very long time, and stomach acid had burned his esophagus from the vomit he had to fight down, so his throat was sore. Chills ran up and down his spine, and he radiated heat. He was constantly damp and cold from the icy dousings he endured, and the fact that he had been restrained without his clothes. He had burns on his chest and legs, and his back felt like the skin hung in ribbons, and stung like hundreds of bees from the whip they'd used on him earlier.

(0o0)

The rest of the team was in position, but Nate was worried that Parker might take off before he gave the sign, simply because she didn't have it in her to wait any longer. This was Eliot they were talking about, and over the years, the two of them had developed a special relationship. Parker saw Eliot as a protective older brother, if somewhat stern, and he saw her as a sometimes annoying yet wonderfully loyal little sister.

Finally, when he was as sure as it was possible for him to be (not being Eliot) that they were safe and alone, he gave the word for them to go in. They had just entered the clearing in which the building sat, and Nate's heart nearly stopped when he heard the distinctive sound of guns being cocked. Eliot could probably identify the gun from the sound it made, and that thought caused Nate a half smile, but the seriousness of the situation didn't allow them more than that. The whole team was momentarily surrounded, and their view of the room was totally blocked. Parker tried to slip away, but the web of people surrounding them was too tight. They were well trained, and even her ability to fade in and out of scenery was no help to her now.

(0o0)

Hardison heard what happened over the comms, and knew that he needed to find a way to break the others out. Before he had a chance to think too much about how to do that, the back door of the van opened, and he was staring down the barrels of several large and dangerous looking weapons, wielded by similarly large and dangerous looking people.

"Command center secure. Man in custody," one of the nearest of them said into a shoulder comm., all the while keeping his gun leveled on Hardison.

"Confiscate the tech and meet us at HQ" was the answer that came back.

"Yes, sir."

As Hardison was 'escorted' from the command center they had set up near the rescue site, he briefly wished he had asked Eliot to teach him some of the things he had been teaching Parker and Sophie. He almost whimpered as he saw one of his captors gathering up his laptop, his phone, and the extra earbuds. Without another word, they forced him from the command center at gun point, and roughly frog marched him out the door.

(0o0)

Nate winced as he felt the barrel of the rifle in his back. He moved forward, swept along by the crowd surrounding them, straining to see what he could of their environment and where they were being taken, but unable to see much of anything because of the people surrounding them. They each had been blindfolded and handcuffed, and they were escorted back into the trees. Nate could feel leaves brush exposed skin, and occasional drops of water where the dew was beginning to rise. He heard Sophie's exclamation of surprise as she stumbled, and a low growl as she was caught and placed more or less back on her feet. That, combined with Parker's little angry huffs at being caught and unable to escape, while doing nothing to reassure him of their safety, at least served to let him know the three of them had not been separated. They were forced to walk for about an hour up a steep hill with fairly rocky terrain before they reached some type of structure, which looked like an old hospital or prison. It was hard to tell which. There weren't any cells, per se, but there were iron shackles bolted to the walls and ceiling, as well as rows of beds and cabinets. They were led past all of that, and up two flights of stairs, into a very small room with a solid iron door, which contained only the smallest barred window allowing access to the outside world. The air in the room was stale. There was a single metal slab against the back wall, and a toilet in the corner. Their captors removed the blindfolds, but not the handcuffs, slamming the iron door behind them.

Taking in their surroundings, they all clearly understood one thing—there was really no way to escape while the door was closed—no air vents, no weaknesses in building structure, nothing they could find. They would simply have to wait until someone came to open the door again, and try to be ready when that happened.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Here's the new chapter. I don't own Leverage or any of the characters contained herein, except for original ones. I write for fun and make no profit. I don't write slash.**

**Thanks to all who are reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. I'm so glad you are liking this story, and also very glad you are letting me know. Reviews make my day. **

**Enjoy the new chapter.**

**Chapter 6**

Eliot had been lowered, and forced to walk to the room where he had been examined before. He felt himself forced down onto the cold, metal bench, and doused with water. When that was done, he felt hard brushes scrubbing him all over with a disinfectant, and winced at the pain this was causing. When they were finished, they marched him over to a higher metal table, lifted him up onto it, and secured him there with large metal shackles. A moment later, he heard sadistic laughter, and then a voice he thought he recognized.

"Dr. Nguyen's methods were ineffective. I was sent to take his place."

"So far, he has not talked, and the boss wants to know exactly what information he has and how much he knows."

"Oh, I can make him talk. Every man has his price. The secret to extracting information is finding a man's price. For instance, this man won't talk unless he is given a reason to do so—one that is more significant than pain. Pain is pain, but it seldom has a long-lasting effect. No, his price would be something more meaningful. Likewise, torture has a limited efficacy. Torture too little, or in the wrong way, and you won't get the information you seek. Torture too much, or too heavily, and the person will simply shut down before you are able to get any information. For instance, this man is feverish and weak. He is on the verge of collapse. If he does collapse, he will be unable to tell you what you wish to know." She paused there for a moment, then took on an air of authority, and said, "Leave us."

"We are under orders to stay."

"Then stay outside. For this next part to be effective, it requires some privacy."

The men stepped outside, glad to get away from their prisoner for a few moments. Stepping up beside the table, she rounded on him, with a look of warning in her eyes, and said loudly, "We have your team in custody. If you don't tell us what we want to know, we will torture them next."

He didn't answer. Panic sloshed around inside him like a great tidal wave, but if what she said was true, his first and only priority right now was protecting the team. She assessed his injuries with an expert eye, and started drawing liquid into a syringe. Eliot's vision was blurry, and the pain he felt was making it difficult to think clearly, but he was prepared to die before he told them anything useful. As she came closer, finally fully facing him, he realized why her voice sounded familiar to him.

"Kat?" he said, barely above a whisper, and a look of betrayal flashed behind his eyes. He began fighting to free himself and simultaneously to get away from her. She walked over next to him, mindful that as weak as he was, he would still be dangerous, and catching one of his flailing arms in her own vice-like grip.

"Don't fight this," she said under her breath, as she injected him with the contents of the syringe. Loud enough for the guards outside to hear, she said, "This drug will have you chirping like a canary before sunset." Through blurred vision, he looked at the vial of medication still in her hand. She didn't realize she was holding it where he could see the name of the medicine it contained. Before he had time to process what it was she had given him, he felt himself giving in to the darkness that rose to meet him.

(0o0)

Parker was prowling the confines of the room they were being held in until none of them could stand it anymore. Nate called her over to him, and when she got there, he said, "you've been searching for a way out of here for the past two hours, and you haven't found it. Come sit down for a few minutes, and let's think this through. There has to be something we're missing." Reluctantly, she stopped her pacing and dropped into the chair next to him. A moment later, they heard a loud buzz, and the scrape of the heavy iron door as it slid open. An Asian man, who had barely reached middle age, walked in carrying a covered tray.

Before he had a chance to speak, Nate did. "Why are you holding us?"

The man's English was good, but broken. "You talk to boss. I just bring lunch."

He placed the tray carefully on the center of the table, and uncovered it. The food smelled heavenly.

"You eat. I tell boss you want to see."

Hardison and Parker both helped themselves to bowls of soup and the water they were supplied, but Nate said, "Wait. We need to think about this. What would Eliot say if we ate something of which we don't know the origins or contents?"

They all froze, knowing Eliot wouldn't like it one bit, and also realizing they'd seldom seen him eat anything he hadn't bought or prepared himself, or seen prepared by one of them. Finally, practicality won out, and Parker said, "We don't know how long we're going to be held here. I think if they were going to kill us, they'd have done so when they had the chance back in that clearing. And we'll need to keep our strength up. We don't know what condition Eliot will be in when he is rescued. I plan to be strong enough to help him."

Thinking for a moment, Nate finally nodded. They each helped themselves to a bowl of the hot soup and some water. It was tasty, and chased away the chill. Nate only hoped they'd made the right choice, but he agreed with Parker's assessment of the situation. When they finished, they stacked the bowls neatly back on the tray, and covered it with the cloth the Asian man had left.

The team was holding a whispered conference, making plans, when the doors opened again, and an American man, whom they didn't recognize, entered and stood before them, glaring at each one in turn. Looking squarely at Nate, he asked in a lethal voice that was just above a whisper, "Nathan Ford, I am Major Anthony Kenwood of the US military. Do you have any idea why you and your team were apprehended?"

"No, I don't."  
>"Well then, allow me to explain. Your presence here jeopardizes a joint operation of two or more branches of the US military, an operation that is top secret and classified. Therefore, I can give you no further information about the mission. If you and your team are cooperative, you will not be prosecuted, but you will not be released until the mission is finished for your own protection, and in the hope of avoiding a potential hostage situation involving the capture of you or any of your team. You may consider yourselves being held for questioning in a military operation, and your presence in this room will prohibit any possibility of your team further compromising this mission. The guards are under orders to make you as comfortable as possible, and so long as you stay here and cooperate with their questions, to treat you as guests. If you choose to be uncooperative, you will be moved to separate cells down in the jail for the duration of this mission. Any questions?"<p>

"Who gave the orders to hold us here?"

"That's classified."

(0o0)

When Eliot awoke hours later, he was still in the infirmary, and his body was riddled with pain. His head was clearer and so was his vision. He was restrained to a cot, and as he examined his injuries, he thought back to what had happened before he lost consciousness. _Was it really Kat he saw? That would mean that she had betrayed him, and the US military. Why? And why would she ask for a rescue? His thoughts were still a bit sluggish from the days and nights of torture and captivity, but he finally hit upon the reason that had been swirling around in the back of his mind since he saw her. It was a trap. She called for a rescue to get him here. For what purpose? _ Eliot shook himself. Those thoughts were making his head hurt. It seemed that Catherine Carrington had betrayed both him and the oath she took to the United States, but he couldn't fathom why she would do such a thing. The only thing he could do was wait and watch for her to reveal the reason to him. If she wanted him involved in this, he had no doubt that she would reveal the reason in her own time. His eyes drifted downwards to his body, assessing his injuries now that his mind was clear. His fists were clenched, and he made a conscious effort to unclench them. When he did so, he found a slip of paper in his right hand. He painstakingly unrolled the paper, careful not to drop it, and a hint of surprise colored his features as he read the six words written there.

_Order 78 is now in effect._

He struggled to get his abused brain to process this information, and give him some idea of whether this was good or bad. It could be either, or both. A wave of panic washed over him, and he ruthlessly pushed it aside, to be dealt with later.

Then, suddenly, the thing he thought he had forgotten slammed into his conscious memory like a runaway torpedo. _The team. What had happened to them? Were they alive? Had they been captured at the same time he was? _ He struggled against his bindings like a madman, but he was bound past all hope of escape. All he could do was think and try to make sense of all of this, and come up with a plan to escape, and then rescue the team if needed. He needed to make a plan, but he needed more information. He kept coming back to the same place. _What the hell was Order 78?_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I don't own Leverage of any of the characters in this story, except the original ones. I write for fun and make no profit. I don't write slash.**

**Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing this story. Reviews make my day, so please keep them coming. **

**Enjoy the new chapter. **

**Chapter 7**

She walked back into the room where Eliot rested and without speaking, she put a hand on his forehead.

"Good. You aren't as feverish as you were."

"What is Order 78?" he asked her, his voice raspy from disuse.

"Shhh. Just try to relax. Close your eyes, Eliot."

"No."

"What?"

"I can't stop what you're doin', but that doesn't mean I'm gonna help ya."

"All right. If that's the way you want it, fine." She drew liquid in a syringe, and injected him with it. As his eyes slipped closed, she started speaking quietly.

(0o0)

Snatches of sound became voices as Eliot floated back toward consciousness. The first thing he realized he felt was that he was at least partially dressed. Moments later, the voices turned into a passionate conversation—almost an argument.

"I'm telling you, there has to be more." This was the voice of a man Eliot didn't recognize. He knew that voice. Right now he couldn't put a face with a name, though.

"And you got your medical degree from where, exactly? There's nothing more. You brought me here to make him talk, and I've done that. Question him yourself, if you don't believe me." She held something out to him.

"I recorded the session."

"Well then, I have no further use for him. Or for you."

He snapped his fingers and she watched in horror as two guards each drew their guns, and a dozen shots rang out in quick succession. As she stood watching, with a mild look of shock, two men moved up beside her, and she felt a searing pain as something hard struck her across the skull, and the blackness rose up to meet her.

(0o0)

The Asian man who had brought the team their meals for the past three days, unlocked the door to the room they were being held in, and pushed it aside. He was accompanied by four guards. Without a word, their hands and feet were shackled, they were blindfolded, and marched out of the room and into a vehicle waiting outside.

They rode for more than an hour over rough roads and rocky terrain. When the rattletrap van they were riding in finally came to a stop, all of them were stiff from being jostled around. The guards hustled them out and prodded them forward at gunpoint, forcing them to walk as best they could while shackled together. The guards prodded them up a steep hill, on an unassuming dirt trail. If they had been able to see where they were going, it wouldn't have helped them, as they wouldn't have thought they were being taken anywhere significant anyway. There was nothing but grass, flowers, and dirt as far as a person could see.

Finally, they reached the top of the hill, and the trail they were on opened out into a large flat space with the painted markings of an airfield. Though they could see nothing, Nate could hear the blades of a large helicopter. They were pushed inside, and the doors were roughly closed behind them. The chopper took off, taking them Heaven knows where. Nate sighed. There was nothing to be done now until they landed.

(0o0)

Kitty woke up to the sensation of something cold and wet hitting her methodically on top of the head—_thunk, thunk, thunk. _Opening her eyes, she discovered she was tied to a tree, in the pouring rain, and soaking wet. She couldn't stop shivering. The building was nowhere in sight, so she had no idea where she was. She shoved the discomfort she was feeling ruthlessly aside, and tried to get away from the freezing water.

Suddenly, the events that took place right before she lost consciousness came flooding back, and she began struggling against the ropes tying her to the tree. She needed to find out if Eliot was all right, or even alive. She kept replaying the shooting in her mind, and she had to admit that it didn't look good for him. She started to feel an overwhelming sadness, but shoved it aside. She would deal with that later. The priority now was to secure her freedom, and try to find out what happened to Eliot.

She was tied too securely to slip out of the hemp ropes, and she was tied in such a way that she couldn't use the bark of the tree to cut the ropes, so she wiggled her body down until one of the ropes covered her mouth, and she started to chew. The process took awhile, but she was eventually able to free herself. Obviously, these people weren't professionals. Professionals would never have tied her with rope she could chew through, but if they weren't part of the North Korean government, or the military, who were they?

She used the survival training she had learned in the military to try to start figuring out where she was. Using the moss growing on the trees, and the relative position of the sun overhead, she managed to determine that it was late afternoon, but already getting dark, and when she began looking closely, she found the tracks where they had dragged her here. They came from the South, and she started moving back in that direction.

She had walked for about twenty minutes, if what she was doing could actually be called walking. She was really stumbling along like she was drunk, off balance and wobbly, and as a result, she was having to stop frequently and rest, in order not to make too much noise moving through the forest. She was leaning against a rock, resting, wishing she had the equipment to collect and purify rainwater—equipment she would have with her under normal circumstances. While she was resting, she heard a soft groan, so low she wasn't sure she actually heard anything. Looking around, and seeing nothing, she began pushing one foot out in front of her as she walked, nudging through the leaves and other underbrush on the forest floor, searching for the source of the noise.

Finally, she found Eliot, battered and bloody, and so cold, but alive. If they could reach the river, she knew of an abandoned hut where they could hole up for a few days, and she could check in. Placing a hand on his chest, she whispered soft words of reassurance, and then she reached down and hooked Eliot under the arms, eliciting a louder groan from him and causing him to pass out. Muttering apologies under her breath, she began dragging him through the forest.

She had to stop much more often with Eliot in tow, and each time she stopped, she had to make sure they were well-hidden and cover their tracks. So, it took most of the night for her to get them both to the hut, and be sure they were safe. The temperature was below freezing when she woke up, but now it was far below freezing. Both were wet and half frozen. The hut had no heat or electricity, so all it would really do was keep the wind off of them. She couldn't see to treat Eliot's injuries, so she would try to keep him comfortable, and hope he made it through the night. She covered him with the two small, thin blankets she found in the hut, and settled in beside him, with the idea of keeping him warm. She sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the confusion. It was rather late last night when I posted the last chapter and didn't realize it had the rest of the story attached. The issue is now fixed. **

**A big thank you to all of those who have been reading and reviewing, following and favoriting my stories. It truly makes my day to know what people think of them. **

**I don't own Leverage or any of the characters. I write for fun and not for profit. I don't write slash. Enjoy the new chapter. Thank you. **

**Chapter**** 8**

She had tried to check in, but there was no signal in the valley where they hid. She turned on the special beacon built into her phone, one that sent a signal which was supposed to be decipherable only to them, and hoped it wouldn't lead their captors right to them. Many times during that long night, Eliot's body had been wracked with coughing fits, and she was terrified she was going to lose him. At least he didn't have the gag to worry over, but by the sounds he was making, she feared a punctured lung. The first hints of daybreak lightened the sky some, and then streaks of color poured out across the sky. Holding her head down to Eliot's chest, she was happy to hear that his heartbeat was still strong, if a bit slower than normal, despite the cold and the condition he was in. As soon as it was light enough to see, she began treating his injuries as best she could, without her bag, or any of the materials she normally carried with her. She found some old rags in a corner of the hut—old but surprisingly clean, and wetting them in the icy water of the river, she used them to clean away the dried blood, and stem the flow of fresh blood from the gunshot wounds. Along with the rags, she found a few herbs for which she knew the medicinal values and uses, and she made a poultice to place on each of the gunshot wounds, and covered it with strips she had torn from the remaining rags. Soon, she had done all she could, and she could barely bend her own fingers, she was so cold. If they didn't start moving soon, they would both die there in that hut, from hypothermia, if the frostbite didn't kill them first.

Eliot was physically better than he had been even just a few minutes ago, but she worried that dragging him out of the cabin and through the woods would undo any of the good progress he had made. She didn't see any other choice, though. Grasping the unconscious man under the arms, she dragged him out of the hut, and began trying to find a place that was high enough for her phone to find a satellite uplink. She couldn't count on the beacon getting through, and they both needed treatment as soon as possible. She had only made it a mile or so when she had to stop and rest. Of course, that meant also finding a place to hide that was large enough for the both of them. She finally settled for burrowing into a thicket of trees, like a rabbit, but the canopy overhead still let the odd bit of sleet through, and so they would need a cover. She didn't want either of them any wetter than they had to be.

Her hands didn't have any feeling anymore, anyway, and she could still use them for dragging Eliot, so she went out, looking for what sticks she could find that might be buried underneath the surface layer of the forest floor, and therefore, dry. Searching underneath the surface layer meant that she had to dig through a layer of cold, ice-covered, wet earth, and though she couldn't feel it, her hands were soon torn up. As she started back to the thicket where Eliot waited, she thought she heard a whippoorwill whistle. She answered it , and then fell silent, and listened hard, straining to see if there was another one. Faintly, underneath the rush of wind and the steady tinking sound of ice bouncing off of frozen things on the ground, she thought she heard another. She whistled again, as loud as she could, this time making the sound of the Bob White.

Hearing nothing else, even after listening for awhile, the cold began to seep down into her core, and she moved back toward the relative warmth of the thicket and Eliot. She wasn't willing to die out there listening for another whistle that might or might not come. She had a wounded man to care for, one she wouldn't leave, and so, the price for her was too high. She was prepared to hole up in that thicket, at least until it stopped sleeting, and then resume their trip. She settled in next to Eliot, tucking one of the blankets as tightly around him as possible, with the exception of the side she sat on, and then took the other blanket and tucked it around the both of them, as tightly as she could get it. Waves of exhaustion swept over her as she grew still. This had been an ordeal, physically and mentally, and she wondered how much longer they could hold out. As the sleet continued to fall, and the temperature continued to drop, she felt her eyelids growing heavier. Twice she stuck her head out of the trees, allowing the sleet to sting her face, keeping herself awake by force of will. Finally, her eyelids slipped closed before she realized they were closing, and they both slept.

(0o0)

Sometime later, she became aware of a sort of warmth blanketing her body. She was comfortable in the twilight greyness between sleep and awareness, and she didn't wake up. A short time later, she felt the sensation of hundreds of bees stinging her face and neck, felt herself go weightless, and then felt a heavy weight on her chest. In the state her mind was in, she could make no sense of any of this, and no matter how hard she tried to pull herself up to consciousness, she found it impossible to do so. There was a slight buzzing in her ear, and then nothing.

"Doc," a commanding voice said, "wake up."

"Doc!" she heard again, sharper and more urgent.

She opened her eyes, but she could see nothing, as shapes and colors swam around overhead, and she had a sense of a sort of gelatin between her and the shapes and colors—a liquid that caused distortion. The weight was still there, pressing in on her, making it impossible to sit up. Unsure of what else to do, she closed her eyes again, only to open them as she howled in pain a moment later. A searing fire ran up each of her fingers, encompassing her hand like gloves of pain. She sat bolt upright, and heard an amused voice from somewhere off to the side of her. It wasn't until just that moment that she remembered the weight that had been pressing down on her before, and realized it was no longer there.

"Well, it's about time you woke up," a male voice said, with a hint of amusement. She tried to pull her hands out of the fire, but he held them fast, as he spoke again. "I know it hurts, but it is necessary to get you warm. Now, open your eyes for me."

She did so, and was surprised to find that her vision had cleared. She recognized the man in front of her, but he wasn't who she had expected to see there. He was a field medic she had trained, and after that time, they had worked one or two missions together. Now she struggled to remember his name, but that sense of exhaustion was still there, so she finally gave up and simply asked, "Where are we?"

"Airborne. Headed somewhere safe."

"Eliot?"

"In the back. I started an IV, but he's going to need more treatment than I can give him. That's why we need to get you warm as fast as we can."

"Where's Vance?"

A shadow fell over the man's face, and she knew she wasn't going to like what she heard next. He looked down at the ground.

"John?" _That was his name, she thought. _"What is it?"

"The Colonel hasn't checked in, and we aren't sure what has happened to him. I was hoping you could give us a little more information about his mission."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. That's classified." Then, she shook herself, and said, with a bit more confidence than she felt, "He'll meet up with us when he can."


End file.
